The Dutiful Wind
by writerofthewanderingsuns
Summary: I have nothing to say for myself :p


Billowing away from the intrusive band of his brother's companions, the lord left the white meadow. He dazedly followed the fleeting scent of her on the wind, seeking solitude but did not care where.

There was a sinking weight to his chest. Amongst the trees again, he sunk to a knee. It would hurt him more to not let these intense sensations flow through and out of him. It had been a long time- not since father- that he had felt loss. He'd forgotten it until she left him with "It's enough." Such words were a twisted sword in his chest. Clouds passed over the green earth for hours while the lord kneeled motionless.

No other presence could be sensed, yet he felt watched. Head low, he closed his eyes, focusing. Tenseiga was exceptionally silent. The wind circled him, tempting any human to shiver, but he did not. There was a sort of presence, but not one that breathes. Perhaps . . . No, not even the undead priestess had seemed so . . . Sensual.

The lord almost accepted the idea of hallucination. Having rarely traversed through emotions, he was not unwise to rule out odd possibilities. A feather breezed against his cheek.

_Sesshomaru_ came a faint sultry voice. It was directionless. It can only mean that it was inside his head. _Telepathy?_

Harshly, like its owner, the voice replied, _Fool. I am dead._

_Yet not._

_Indeed. I am the wind,_ an invisible force caressed his shoulder, _I am free to do whatever I please with you._

Like he would have stopped her, alive or not. He never did. She justly prioritized her freedom over her attraction to him, which in of itself was something that made her attractive to him.

A killer smile snuck upon him. He rose to his feet, _So. Now that you are free, you grace me with your presence._ The ties holding his armor began to loosen, the metal plates falling to his feet with a metallic thud. A sensation crawled against the skin of his chest, akin to a hand sliding beneath his layers.

_I do indeed, don't I?_

The air was warm to his face, his magenta marks buzzed to the invisible touch, but you couldn't melt air into acid. You cannot refuse air, and so he breathed in the faint traces of her scent. The _wind_ stole his breath as it caressed down his abdomen.

The lord realized he had not indulged himself since meeting the scum in the baboon cloak. It had not even crossed his mind while Kagura was not free.

He choked a ragged breath when a force tightened about his manhood. A whisper of wind kissed his pointed ear, _You're going to sink so low as to be lusting, panting like a bitch in heat, at my every breeze._

The hardness of his anatomy did prove her point, but she knew as well as he did that he could block out all temptation with mental walls of steel. He began to sense traces of youki weaved like threads within the currents surrounding him. With that, he could tell she was affected by his reactiveness.

He could not touch her, could not alleviate her of such an ache. Allowing her to continue her work down low, blood dripped from his white knuckles. He would not touch himself. The need to however, was excruciating.

An image of her ruby smirk passed his thoughts. Droplets of his blood whirled in the gales. _This is the true Dance of the Dead, my Lord._

He clenched his jaw. If she didn't finish soon, he'd need to kill something. A rush of wind sprang him free of the restraining clothing.

_Oh my. You could have a harem following you with this size._

Despite his difficulty to think at the present moment, he managed, _it would seem the entirety of the atmosphere is a harem now._

Little did he know of the truth to his sentence, nor her future plans for him. For every moment she could find, she would tempt the dog down the slippery slope into embarrassing himself. Victories would be rare but _hard_-won.

Her grip on him grew tighter, and he hissed at the sudden _humid_ sensation on the head. _Are you…._

_Mmmm. Something like that. _She made a licking sound in his head, along with a wet stroking sensation coating his shaft.

The mix of pain from his palms and pleasure from his manhood interlaced up his spine. A quiet groan left his throat as his hot seed spurted on the grass. A sheen of sweat dappled his face in the flickers of sunlight through the trees.

She sighed, _what an erotic expression, Sesshomaru. _The wind sorceress had a tone exactly like a cat who licked the cream, if only she could actually taste his. An image of her face came to mind, licking her fingers. _What makes you think I cannot taste you in the wind?_

"Hn." He smiled slightly. _Dress me._ He commanded.

The wind tucked his cock back under the fundoshi and resettled his garments in their proper form. She was silent as he stood there looking at his armor. The ties floated a bit at her attempt. With patience, he molded the armor to his body and secured it in place. He began to loop the elaborate sash as he continued into the forest when she whipped it away. He paused to observe as it floated back to him, elaborately tying itself on his body.

He lifted a brow in question. She was silent however. Only faint traces of sensation curled around his one hand.

As one of the dead, she would be with him wherever his journey took him. She would play with him in her storms, guide him in the underworld, and one day her breath will wear away the bones he leaves behind.

As the wind, it was her duty.


End file.
